


Meager Advance

by Loxare



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Batfam Content War 2017, Gen, Sadness, lots of sadness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-12
Updated: 2017-09-12
Packaged: 2018-12-26 19:57:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12065922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loxare/pseuds/Loxare
Summary: Jason walks into the warehouse to help his mother. Jason does not walk out.





	Meager Advance

**Author's Note:**

> Everyone and their dog has written a Jason-death-scene, whether in the context of other fics, or as stand-alones like this one. This in particular was written because I'd heard one too many people blame Jason for his death. This was an attempt to shift the blame away from Jason and onto the actual guilty parties (Joker, with Sheila as an accomplice), while still staying true to the original comic. I hope I did Jason justice.

Jason crept up to the warehouse, stopping a good distance away to crouch behind a bush, the only cover big enough to hold him for at least twenty feet. The hot desert air tore at his throat and the breeze threw tiny grains of sand up, stinging his cheeks and making him glad he wore a thin jacket. He ignored both however in favour of trying to look through the dusty warehouse windows. Bruce had said not to go in, and Jason had no intentions to. But a little recon couldn't hurt.

His training prevented him from jumping when the door creaked open loudly, but it was a near thing. He curled tighter behind the bush, trying to remain invisible while at the same time peeking through the leafless branches. He was both anticipating and dreading the appearance of green hair and ghost white skin, but neither showed up. Instead, he was treated to a newly familiar head of blonde curls and green slacks.

Uncurling slightly, so he could see through the sparser twigs at the top of the bush, Jason waited. Sheila, his mom, stepped out, closing the door behind her and leaning against it. She pulled a cigarette out of the package and lit it. Jason waited as she smoked, and when it looked like there wasn't anyone coming out after her, he stood and ran towards her. “Mom.”

Sheila jumped, nearly dropping her cigarette. “Jason?”

Jason glanced around, looking for cameras, movement, anything. Still nothing. But that didn't mean there wouldn't be, so they had to move fast. “I know you're in trouble with the Joker. Come on, we have to get you out of here.” He grabbed her hand and started pulling her to where Bruce had left the jeep.

But Sheila shook her head, pulling her hand out of his grasp. “No, Jason. If the Joker finds out I left...” She didn't finish her sentence, but she didn't really need to either.

Running a hand through his hair in frustration, he made a split second decision. One he knew Bruce would yell at him for later, but he didn't have much of a choice. He tugged down the zipper of his jacket, exposing the red kevlar and stylized R. “Don't worry Mom. Me and Batman will protect you. I promise.”

Lifting a hand to her face, Sheila gaped. “That outfit! You're...?” Jason nodded at the open ended question, and several indecipherable emotions flickered across her face. Then suddenly it was Sheila grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the warehouse. “Come with me. I have to show you something.”

Jason resisted. “But Mom, the Joker...” He had promised Bruce.

Sheila shook her head at his protests, giving his hand another tug. “He's long gone. But...” She gnawed at the bottom of her lip. “Do you have the rest of your costume with you?” Jason didn't answer, but she kept talking anyways. “You might want to put it on.”

Jason nodded again, confused. But he got his gloves, boots, belt and cape out of his bag, then pulled a spare mask out of his pocket and put the lot on. Then he followed his mom into the warehouse.

It was dark and dusty, the weak sunlight filtering through the dirty windows doing little to illuminate the countless crates. If it wasn't for Sheila's hand in his, Jason would have been afraid.

“We're almost there, Robin. If you step over here, you'll understand everything.” Somehow, Sheila's voice echoed in the warehouse, despite the multitude of objects that should have broken up the sound. Her grip on his fingers tightened as they rounded a corner.

A fist flew at his skull, knuckles colliding with his temple. His vision went dark, but still he lashed out with one hand, driving back any attackers, while trying to shove his mom behind him with his other. He kept swinging, slowly pushing Sheila backwards towards the exit.

A pair of hands landed on his shoulder blades and pushed hard. Stumbling, still trying to blink the spots out of his eyes, Jason fell forward. Two of the thugs (there were at least a dozen, that much he could tell) grabbed at his biceps and wrists. He started struggling, moving his arms as much as he was able and kicking out with his legs. One of his knees slammed into a crotch and a pair of hands fell away with an, “Oof!” But he didn't have time to take advantage of it as someone else grabbed his arm and another person slammed a fist into his head. And again. And again. Eventually, his limbs stopped cooperating and fell limp.

Another hand, this one gloved, grabbed his chin and tilted his head up. Between the blood in his eyes and the dark spots taking up most of his vision, it took a while for him to focus. Blood red smile, unnaturally large. White face. It was the eyes that did it, the green eyes cutting through the black spots like a knife through butter, burning with delight. A voice, strange and distorted and distant, laughed. “Well, well, well. What do we have here? Has a little bird flown too far from the nest?” More laughter. And more. And more.

Jason's heart raced and his lungs heaved. He'd promised Bruce... Where was Sheila...? If he could just get them out... But his thoughts tumbled in his brain and he couldn't pin down one long enough to figure out a decent plan.

Eventually, the laughter died away. Joker made this hand motion and suddenly the thugs were on him. They tore at his belt, his shoes, his cape. When their tried to take his gloves, Jason balled his hands into fists. They just dragged him over to a crate, slammed his hands down and smashed them with a two by four. Jason cried out, feeling several of them break and the strength leave the rest. And then his gloves were gone and his hands were cuffed behind him. Then, they dropped him.

Jason nearly fell, but locked his knees at the last second. His eyes roved around, trying to find his mom. He had to get her out of here. After a moment, he found her. Leaning on a crate and smoking. “But...” That was more slur than word, so he tried again. “But you s-said-”

“I lied.” And her voice was cold, distant, something he only heard come from the throats of Gotham's finest crooks. "I've been dipping into the medical funds here, and if you and your boss stir up trouble, I'll get found out.” She snorted. “Sorry kid. Looks like you chose the wrong person to trust this time.” Her cigarette flicked ash in Jason's direction and her gaze flicked over to Joker. “What should we do with him?”

Joker hummed and hawed, fiddling with the gun in his hands. It flashed out, hitting Jason in the jaw and sending him reeling. Then Joker's foot caught him in his suddenly vulnerable stomach. Jason collapsed to the ground, retching. A purple glove grabbed him by the collar and hoisted him up. “Come on now birdboy! You're not quitting on me now, are you? The party just started!”

He didn't have enough breath to answer, so Jason worked up some spit and sent it flying at the clown's face. The gob of red rolled down his cheek and Joker swiped at it with a glove, his smile gone. Jason's knee came up and hit Joker in the stomach and, with what little air he had, he said, “Yeah? Then let's boogey.” If he could just hold on until Bruce got here...

The thought was smacked out of his mind when a thug struck him from behind. Jason landed on his knees, and a foot cracked against his skull. More kicks came at him while he was down, into his stomach, chest, head. He curled into a ball, trying to protect as much as he could and-

The sound of metal scraping against the dirt floor stopped everyone in their tracks. Joker, recovered, had picked up a crowbar. “That wasn't a very nice thing to do to your Uncle Joker! You know, the first birdbrain had manners. You should have learned a thing or two from him. Oh well.” Gently, Joker ran the crowbar down Jason's cheek. “You've been a bad boy. And bad boys get punished. Oh, but don't worry.” He lifted the crowbar, a high pitched giggle building behind his teeth. “This'll hurt you a _lot_ more than it hurts me.”

The crowbar crashed down on his shoulder. The next blow pushed his arm away from his face and the one after hit his chest in a way that forced him to uncurl. Jason lots count, leg, leg, chest, stomach, thud, thud, thud. One caught him in the eye, shattering his mask lens and smashing his orbital. His ribs cracked, broke, shattered, his arms broken, his legs crushed. His skin tore under the teeth of the bar, blood vessels rupturing and bleeding under and out of his skin. He's flipped onto his stomach, and his shoulder blade goes next. He wished Bruce hadn't taught him so much about the human body. He wished he didn't know the name of every bone the Joker crushed, of every muscle bruised. He wished Bruce would hurry up.

And all throughout the horrible soundtrack, the mad, relentless laughter.

And then, it stopped. Voices around him. Couldn't...

“... was fun!”

“... Batman... little friend...”

“... vengeful... this could... didn't leave evidence...”

Slowly, Jason opened his good eye. Everything was fuzzy, but he could see Joker tying Sheila up to a post. He saw Joker dropping something, then he and his thugs walked out the door.

Breath coming in ragged gasps, Jason flipped himself over. Sheila's voice again. “... ason... alive?!” Couldn't answer. Ok. One thing at a time. Hands to the front, then a rest. With a groan, he moves his hands down, twisting his broken legs so he can fit his arms over them. One is broken, and he can't move it. That's ok though. His other arm takes it for a ride.

Gasping at the effort, feeling fluid in his lungs, unable to get a full breath. But his arms are in front. He tries to stand. His shattered hip and ankle protest and he falls and lands. All of his injuries cry out in protest.

He can't think, can't plan. One thing at a time. His forearm is broken, but his elbow seems ok. He throws his arms forward, dragging himself towards Sheila.

The words she's been shouting for the past... time. He doesn't know how long. But they finally become clear. Sort of. “... bomb Jas... deactiva...”

The thing Joker dropped. Blearily, he stares at the timer. Two minutes. His voice, barely a whisper, “In no shape... to handle... that...” Instead, he reached his hands up, groaning in pain as his fingers, whole and broken, curl around Sheila's bonds. “Gotta... get you out...” He pulls himself up until he is eye level with them, picking at the knots with his few good fingers until they fall away. “Save... you... Mom...” He looked up at her, trying for a smile. “Run.”

And then Sheila was grabbing his broken arm and pulling it over her shoulder. And Jason was too tired to scream. “We'll both get out of here.” He was finally getting all the words, but her voice seemed far away. “Together.” He hadn't noticed, but she was dragging him towards the exit. “Almost there.”

A strange beeping noise cut through rushing in his ears, closer than Sheila's voice. The arm on his waist tightened, the one on his wrist dropping away as it grabbed for the doorknob. And she cursed.

It was getting harder and harder to breathe. Where was Bruce? “What's... wrong...?”

“The door! It's locked! The Joker locked us in here!” Sheila dropped him against the wall, pounding on the door with both hands and screaming for help.

Blearily, Jason looked towards the bomb. It took a second to find, but when he did, the numbers jumped out at him. 5.

He pushed away from the wall.

4.

Stumbling, nearly fell.

3.

Teetering, catching his balance. Walking the one step seemed like a mile.

2.

“Jason what-?”

1.

His arms spread wide, to shield his mom from as much of the blast as he could.

0.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Blearily, he opened his eyes. Eye. How was he...?

Everything hurt. Everything hurt so much. He couldn't move. All he could do was lie there and try to breathe. He could see his arm, see the burns covering one side of it. See deep gouges where shrapnel had cut him. He could see dirt and rubble. Someone was calling his name.

His throat started to burn. His lungs.

He started to cough. He'd thought everything had hurt before. But now he was on fire. On the inside.

He tried. Tried to stop coughing. To _breathe_. And he did. On the first try.

Not so much the second one.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title is taken from the Final Fantasy Crystal Chronicles soundtrack.


End file.
